


still-beating heart

by j_gabrielle



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Jaskier, Insecurity, M/M, Mpreg, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:49:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23026714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_gabrielle/pseuds/j_gabrielle
Summary: It seemed like the world and their dog with the gimpy leg could tell that he was in love with Geralt of Rivia. After all this time travelling with the man and the songs he wrote about the Witcher, it seems like even if he had taken a dagger to his chest to carve his still-beating heart out to offer to Geralt, it would still be found wanting.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 24
Kudos: 202





	1. Chapter 1

It must be lovely, Jaskier thinks, to be at a festival like this with someone you loved.

His fingers itch to compose some shapeless melody just to capture the sudden pang of melancholia that was ill-suited to the happy scene a thousand summer streamers dancing in the wind and sunlight. Geralt turns back then, eyes wondering, and Jaskier schools his face into a mask of easy charm and nonchalance by force of habit. When that gaze turns to Ciri instead of lingering on him, Jaskier can't help the soft relief that takes root in his chest. 

The Witcher just wants to make sure Ciri was alright, that's all. Nothing for you, a small, cruel part of him says. 

He bites the inside of his cheek. 

They were crowded in on either side with stalls that sold wares from all corners of the Continent. Ciri would not admit to it, but both men could tell that she was endlessly fascinated with everything that was in her sight. It warms Jaskier a little, to see such innocent wonder on her. 

"Why don't you go with Geralt?" He says after a few moments. They'd agreed that he would take her to the tailor's to be fitted for some new clothes. She was hitting a growth spurt and her current set would be too short for her if they left it off for much longer.

"But the tailor?" Ciri's blue eyes widen with cautious hope. Jaskier can't quite help the soft laugh that bubble out from within him. He can tell that Geralt had stopped and was watching them.

Jaskier reaches up to tuck a stray strand of her hair back under her hood. "I know your measurements well enough, _Fiona_," He says, curling his tongue around the name they had agreed to call her when in public. "And I know you'd much rather follow Geralt anyways."

Ciri's wry smile was answer enough, so he waves her off and moves to set off on his own. But before he can take even the first step, a strong grip stays him by the wrist and he has to calm himself from instinctively reaching for the dagger he keeps in his sleeve. Amber eyes watch his face carefully and Jaskier tries for what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

"Do you have enough? Coin?" Geralt says. Each word seems to be dragged out of some deep well in him. Jaskier tries not to flinch at that. Somehow the fact that ever since they reconciled, there has been a lingering awkwardness that neither one of them seem capable of breaking.

Ciri watches their little impasse with knowing eyes and it prickles a sort of unease under his skin.

It seemed like the world and their dog with the gimpy leg could tell that he was in love with Geralt of Rivia. After all this time travelling with the man and the songs he wrote about the Witcher, it seems like even if he had taken a dagger to his chest to carve his still-beating heart out to offer to Geralt, it would still be found wanting.

Nothing, it seems, would ever turn those amber eyes to look his way, nor would anything he does ever warrant anything more than a monosyllabic response or reaction. It was his lot in life and try as he might convince himself that he is happy to just travel by Geralt's side, Jaskier cannot help his foolish human need to yearn for more.

"I'll be fine." Prying that hand off him, he nods, slipping past the bodies in the crowd.

The trip to the tailor was a quick and relatively painless one. Jaskier picks out fabric that would last longer and gives instruction for a design that was adaptable enough should Ciri needed to take some parts of it out or to remake it to suit a purpose in her life. He pays and is ensured that it would take no more than a few hours to be ready. 

Jaskier isn't thinking about much when he steps back into the sunlight, only about stocking up on some dried fruits when he turns and sees a little tucked away stall that seemed to not have any patrons. Curious, he walks up to it, shaping his mouth into a smile. But before he can speak, and whether it was trick of the light, his eyes flutter to a necklace resting amongst its brethren.

His fingers reach out to touch. Brushing up against the chain, tracing down to where a rich verdant pendant rests. It is shaped like a molten blob that looks like a potter got frustrated with his clay and threw it down again.

"Curious."

Jaskier snatches his hand back. "I'm sorry?"

Sharp eyes peer out from a heavily lined face that sits under a nest of grey hair. The old lady slips spindly fingers over the necklace, picking it up to hold it up into the light. "This one almost never calls out for anyone," She muses. Eyes flicking from it and back to him. "You must long for him something fierce."

"I-"

She cuts him off with a short laugh. "You don't have to explain. I've seen enough in this world to know that Destiny should never be questioned. Especially when it ties so strongly around two souls."

"Destiny's a bitch," Jaskier parrots immediately, wincing after. "Sorry."

This startles a snort out of her, jewellery tinkling with the shake of her head. "That, Destiny is." Leaning over the table, her wrinkled hand slips the necklace into his hand. "And it's yours now. Hold him in your heart and mind."

Jaskier, stunned, accepts it. "How much for it?"

"Don't worry about that." The stallkeeper's smile grows. "You're already paying for it."

Jaskier stumbles a step back, blinking quickly. A haze settles in his eyes and he panics. Something collides against him, hurtling him to the ground. Hurt blooms at his side and fear grip him by the throat. 

"Jaskier!"

Geralt's face blooms into focus. Strong hands pull him to his feet, holding him steady until he catches his breath. 

"Thanks," He mumbles, confused. Frantically, he finds himself searching for the old lady and her stall. 

"What are you looking for?"

Jaskier pulls away. The weight of the necklace sits like an anchor in the palm of his hand. Geralt is watching him with clear worry in the furrow of his brow. 

"Nothing. Nothing, at all."


	2. Chapter 2

There is a sense of something not right lingering on his consciousness that he can't push away. Jaskier isn't stupid. He knows he is barely keeping it together.

Geralt and Ciri ride up ahead on the back of Roach, while Jaskier lingers behind on his own mare. The necklace sits nestled against his breastbone. Its shapeless weight a reminder that the exchange with that strange woman had not been just a figment of his imagination. 

The sun burns on the back of his neck and his riding is not doing anything to quell growing nausea that claws at his gut. The sensation of being off has been growing from the moment Geralt had cut through the panic and confusion in his mind, becoming the focal point that draws him back to himself. Jaskier is ridiculously happy, there is no doubt about that, that Geralt somehow knew to find him there, but it didn't negate the fact that he has to kill the hope that springs eternal every single time the Witcher is kind to him. 

It's ridiculous, Jaskier thinks a little breathlessly, _he's_ being ridiculous. 

A sense of vertigo sweeps over him and he grips the reins hard until the moment passes. "Jaskier?" Ciri's voice calls out to him. Quickly, he plasters on his best smile and straightens himself on the saddle. She has lingered to 

"Yes?" He asks, clearing his throat. It wouldn't do to worry her about the inner worries he is going through. 

"You've been..."

Jaskier takes pity on her, nudging his horse right next to them. Taking care to note look at Geralt's face. "I'm fine." He reaches up to tap a finger to her chin.

He catches the slight flaring of the Witcher's nostrils but demures his eyes away from him to bestow Ciri with his most beatific grin. "I'm fine," he repeats with more confidence than he really feels. Leaning back, he kicks his horse back into a trot.

In him, nausea sings like a white-hot flare in his gut. Is it a curse? He does not know. Through it all, the smooth stone surface slips on his sweat-slicked skin.


	3. Chapter 3

He caves a week in when the abdominal pains became more like repeated knife wounds. He manages to slip away from Geralt and Ciri the minute they ride into a busy town, claiming he needed to look for some new strings for his lute. Geralt had let him go with a soft hum but the furrow in his brow that speaks volume about how his lying was beyond subpar. He hadn't put up any protest and successfully drew Ciri's attention away. For these small mercies, Jaskier is grateful.

Puttering about the market gives him a lead to the healer. Negotiating the winding stairs that climbs to the heavens has him dizzy and panting by the time he lifts his hand to knock his knuckles to a copper studded door. 

"You look like shit."

"I should have figured it was you," Jaskier sighs, slumping against the wall. "Hello, Yennefer."

Violet eyes squint at him, flickering behind him before back onto his face again. "Where's your Witcher?" She asks, even as she steps aside for him to come through her door.

"Not here, as you can see," He quips back weakly. Briefly, he debates turning tail and running back to the safety of Geralt's presence. But the decision is taken from him when Yennefer drags him in by the wrist. 

"You--" Yennefer starts before blinking rapidly, lips agape. Crowding him against a wall, she leans in, inhaling deeply. She reaches a hand to his chest, hovering right above where the pendant thrums on his skin. "Do you realise what this is?"

Jaskier instinctively touches it over his shirt. "Is it making me sick?" He moves to pull it off his neck only for her to stop him with a quick grip of his wrist.

"It's making you something, alright," Yennefer says. The moment hangs between them before she takes a step back. "Either you are incredibly blessed or undoubtedly cursed." She folds her arms, tilting her head and studying him. "I can't wait to see which is it."

"Yennefer--"

"What was the first thing you saw after you received this?"

Jaskier frowns, mind casting back to that strange day. "Geralt." 

"Of course it would be him. Why do I even bother asking?" Yennefer scoffs, sweeping into the first room on his right. Jaskier scrambles to follow, heart thudding in his chest. His mind races with all the appropriate scenarios and a few others thrown in panic. 

"What the fuck is going on, Yennefer?"

**Author's Note:**

> I have never, will never, allow any reposting or translations of my works without my permission. All of my works will and shall only be hosted on my personal accounts on AO3 (j_gabrielle), Dreamwidth (j_gabrielle) and Tumblr (randomingoftherandomness, hardheartshere).
> 
> For those who say that I never said anything, it is clearly stated on my AO3 profile bio.
> 
> I do not have a Twitter account.
> 
> I do not have a Wattpad account.
> 
> **Please Do Not Repost My Fics**


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